Confessions Of Con Cregan Part 45

"Ah! I forgot that. But what can he say? You saved my life. I should have been carried away, like poor Sancho, but for you. Tell me how you chanced to be here, and where you are going, and whence you come, and all about you. Sit down there, on that stone. Nay, you need n't hold my hand while talking."

"Yes, but I 'm afraid to be alone here in the dark, Maria," said I.

"What a silly creature it is! Now begin."

"I 'd rather talk of the future, Maria, dearest. I 'd rather we should speak of all the happy days we may spend together."

"But how so? Once at Bexar, I 'm to wait at the monastery till my father sends his mules and people to fetch me home; meanwhile, you will have wandered away Heaven knows where."

"And where do you call home, Maria?"

"Far away, beyond the Rio Grande, in the gold country, near Aguaverde."

"And why should I not go thither? I am free to turn my steps whither I will. Perhaps your father would not despise the services of one who has some smattering of knowledge upon many a theme."

"But a Caballero--a real Senhor--turn miner! They are all miners there."

"No matter; Fortune might favor me, and make me rich, and then,--and then,--who is to tell what changes might follow? The Caballero might bid adieu to the 'Placer,' and the fair 'Donna Maria' wave a good-bye to the nunnery--and, by the way, that is a very cruel destiny they intend for you."

"Who knows? I was very happy in the 'Sacred Heart.'"

"Possibly, Maria; but you were a child, and would have been happy anywhere. But think of the future; think of the time when you will be loved, and will love in turn; think of that bright world of which the convent-window does not admit one pa.s.sing glance. Think of the glorious freedom to enjoy whatever is beautiful in Nature, and to feel sympathies with all that is great and good; and reflect upon the sad monotony of the cloister,--its cold and cheerless existence, un cared for, almost unfelt."

"And when the Superior is cross!" cried she, holding up her hands.

"And she is always cross, Maria. That austere habit repels every generous emotion, as it defies every expansion of the heart. No, no; you must not be a nun."

"Well, I will not," said she.

"You promise me this, Maria?"

"Yes, upon one condition,--that you will come to the 'Placer,' and tell my father all that you have told to me. He is so good and so kind, he 'll never force me."

"But will he receive me? Will your father permit me so to speak?"

"You saved my life, Senhor," said she, half-proudly; "and little as you reckon such a service, it is one upon which Don Estavan Olares will set some store."

"Ah!" said I, sighing, "how little merit had I in the feat! It did not even cause me the slightest injury."

"I am just as gratified as though you had been eaten by an alligator, Senhor," said she, laughing with a sly malice that made me half suspect that some, at least, of her innocence was a.s.sumed.

From this we wandered on to speak of the journey for the morrow, which I proposed she should make upon "Charry," while Fra Miguel and myself accompanied her on foot. It was also agreed between us that we should preserve the most rigid reserve and distance of manner in the Friar's presence, rarely noticing or speaking with each other. One only difficulty existed, which was by what pretence I should direct my steps to Aguaverde. But here again Donna Maria's ready wit suggested the expedient, as she said, laughing, "Are you not making a pilgrimage to the shrine of Our Lady 'des los Dolores '?"

"So I am," said I. "Shame on me that I should have forgotten it till now!"

"Did you never tell me," said she, archly, "that you intended to enter 'an order'?"

"Certainly," said I, joining the merry humor; "and so will I, on the very same day you take the veil."

"And now, holy man," said she, with difficulty repressing a fresh burst of laughter, "let us say, 'Good night.' Fra Miguel will awake at daybreak, and I see that is already near."

"Good night, sweet sister," said I, once again pressing her fingers to my lips, and scarcely knowing when to relinquish them. A heavy sigh from the Friar, however, admonished me to hasten away; and I crept to my place, and lay down beside the now almost extinguished embers of our fire.

"What a good thought was that of the pilgrimage," said I, as I drew my cloak around me; and I remembered that "Chico's" beads and his "book of offices" were still among my effects in the saddle-bags, and would greatly favor my a.s.sumption of the pious character. I then tried to recall some of my forgotten Latin. From this I reverted to thoughts of Donna Maria herself, and half wondered at the rapid strides we had accomplished in each other's confidence. At last I fell asleep, to dream of every incongruity and incoherency that ever haunted a diseased brain.

Nunneries, with a crocodile for the Abbess, gave way to scenes in the Placers, where Nuns were gold-was.h.i.+ng, and Friars riding down cataracts on caymans. From such pleasant realities a rough shake of Fra Miguel aroused me, as he cried, "When a man laughs so heartily in his sleep, he may chance to keep all the grave thoughts for his waking. Rise up, Senhor; the day is breaking. Let us profit by the cool hours to make our journey."

As day was breaking we set out for Bexar, in the manner I had suggested; Donna Maria riding, the Friar and myself, one either side of her, on foot. Resolved upon winning, so far as might be, Fra Miguel's confidence, I addressed my conversation almost exclusively to him, rarely speaking a word to my fair companion, and then only upon the commonest questions of the way.

As none of us had eaten since the day previous, nor was there any baiting-place till we reached Bexar, it was necessary to make the best of our way thither with all speed. The Fra knew the road perfectly, and by his skill in detecting the marks on trees, the position of certain rocks, and the course of the streams, gave me some insight into the acute qualities necessary for a prairie traveller. These themes, too, furnished the greater portion of our conversation, which, I am free to own, offered many a long interval of dreary silence. The Fra's thoughts dwelt gloomily on his late disaster, while Donna Maria and myself were condemned to the occasional exchange of a chance remark or some question about the road.

Once or twice Fra Miguel questioned me on the subject of my own history; but ere I had proceeded any length in detailing my veracious narrative, an accidental word or remark would show that he was inattentive to what I was speaking, and only occupied by his own immediate reflections.

Why, then, trouble myself with biographical inventions which failed to excite any interest? And so I relapsed into a silence plodding and moody as his own.

At length the path became too narrow for us all to go abreast, and as my duties were to guide Charry by the bridle, I became the companion of Maria by force of circ.u.mstances; still, Fra Miguel kept up close behind, and however abstracted at other times, he now showed himself "wide awake" on the subject of our intercourse. Denied the pleasure of talking to each other, we could at least exchange glances; and this was a privilege no surveillance, however rigid, could deny us. These are small and insignificant details, which were of little moment at the time, and led to even less for the future; but I record them as the first stirrings of love in a heart which might have been deemed too intent upon its own cares to admit of others. And here let me observe that the taste for stratagem--the little wiles and snares inspired by a first pa.s.sion--are among the strongest incentives to its origin. It was the secrecy of our meeting at night, the little difficulties of our intercourse by day, the peril of discovery as we spoke together, the danger of detection as we exchanged glances, that, by giving us a common object, suggested a common feeling. Both engaged in the same warfare, how could we avoid sympathizing with each other? Then, there was that little "dash of romance" about our first meeting, so auxiliary to the tender pa.s.sion; and, again, we were wandering, side by side, in a silent forest, with only one other near us. Would we could have disposed of him too! I shame to say it, but, in honest truth. I often wished that he had followed the Mexican!

We halted during the great heat of the day, and the Fra once more "rigging" out his capote for a hammock, Donna Maria lay down for the siesta, while I cut gra.s.s for Charry, and rubbed her down. Long fasting had made us all more disposed to silence, so that a few monosyllables were all that pa.s.sed. When the time came to resume the road, I am proud to say that the Fra bore his privations with less equanimity than did we. His sighs grew heavy and frequent; any accidental interruption on the road evoked unmistakable signs of irritation; he even expostulated with certain saints, whose leaden images decorated his sombrero, as to the precise reasons for which his present sufferings were incurred; and altogether, as hunger pinched, showed a more rebellious spirit than his holy discourses of the preceding evening could have led me to suspect.

One time, he charged his calamities to the score of having eaten turtle, which was only half fish, on a Friday; at another, it was upon that unlucky day the journey had been begun; then he remembered that the Mexican was only a half-breed, who possibly, if baptized at all, was only an irregular kind of a Christian, admitted into the fold by some stray missionary, more trapper than priest. Then he bethought him that his patron, Saint Michel of Pavia, was of an uncertain humor, and often tormented his votaries, by way of trying their fidelity. These various doubts a.s.sumed the form of open grumblings, which certainly inspired very different sentiments in Donna Maria and myself than edification. As evening closed in, and darkness favored us, these ghostly lamentations afforded us many a low, quiet laugh. A soft pressure of the hand, which now, by mere accident, of course, she had let fall near me, would sometimes show how we concurred in our sentiments, till at length as the thicker gloom of night fell around, such was our unanimity that her hand remained clasped in my own, without any further attempt to remove it.

If the Fra's grat.i.tude burst forth eloquently as we came in sight of some spangled lights glittering through the gloom, our sensations were far more akin to disappointment.

"Bexar at last, praised be Saint Michel!" exclaimed he. "It has been a long and dreary journey." Here I pressed Donna Maria's hand, and she returned the pressure.

"Two days of disaster and sore suffering!" Another squeeze of the Senhora's fingers.

"A time I shall never forget," muttered he.

"Nor I," whispered I to my fair companion.

"A season of trouble and distress!" quoth the Fra.

"Of love and happiness!" muttered I.

"And now, my worthy young friend," said he, addressing me, "as we are so soon to part,--for yonder is Bexar,--how shall we best show our grat.i.tude? Would you like a 'novena' to 'Our Lady of Tears,' whose altar is here? or shall we vow a candle to Saint Nicomede of Terapia?"

"Thanks, holy Father, there is no need for either; mine was a slight service, more than requited by the pleasure of travelling in your company and that of this pious maiden. I have learned many a goodly lesson by the way, and will think over them as I wander on my future pilgrimage."

"And whither may that tend, Senhor?"

"To the shrine of 'Our Lady of Sorrows' at Aguaverde, by the help of Saint Francis."

"Aguaverde!" exclaimed Fra Miguel, with a voice that bespoke anything rather than pleasure; "it is a long and a dangerous journey, young man!"

"The greater the merit, Father!"

"Trackless wastes and deep rivers, hostile Indians and even more cruel half-breeds. These are some of the perils," said he, in a voice of warning; but a gentle pressure from the Senhora's fingers was more than an answer to such terrors.